Category: Identity

Unexpected Bomb Strikes: a.k.a. Holidays

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It’s an odd feeling, a strange phenomenon, to feel happy and then be attacked by grief. It sometimes seems that happiness is an elaborate subterfuge specifically designed to precipitate sneak attacks with greater precision and devastation. The higher the platform, the deeper the dive, right? It’s like being enamored of, purely captivated by the fireworks just before you realize, only seconds before the strike, that a bomb was deployed to your exact location when the beauty of the explosion was initiated.

Avoiding grief on the holidays is a delicate dance, an intricate tango with swift turns in opposite directions in order to keep tempo and still appear graceful. I’m learning how to keep step better this year. Left, right, quickstep, back left…no! right again! Maybe by next year I’ll have the muscle memory to complete the song without even having to count off the beats in my head.

I’m headed to my sister’s home for dinner today. That’s an even trickier scenario. Two people doing the same dance but to different music and yet on the same hardwood dance floor. You try not to skid and slip, to stay on your feet and not lose count, as you attempt to avoid colliding into the other dancers. This dance you tend to do while wearing vision-impeding masquerade masks 🎭 to hide the intensity and concentration clearly written all over your face in permanent marker.

Driving in my car, I felt God wrap His arms around me this morning. A physical sensation relaying a spiritual truth. I never dance alone. God only leads the dance when I stop trying to force my own direction. When I stop struggling with the counting of steps in my head, He effortlessly takes over with such a strong lead that I realize I didn’t even need to learn the dance myself because His hand at the curve of my back and the other in my own hand, they direct each step of mine without the need for forethought. I’ll never forget, not ever, that there are empty chairs at the table; those chairs won’t ever be filled even when new chairs are placed around the same table. I am overwhelmingly grateful that those empty chairs were, at one time, filled in my home.

I’m a terrible dancer…but He makes me graceful anyway. His grace has already been poured all over me and I’m saturated in it. Today will be okay. I have many reasons to dwell in the happiness. The bomb strike will not disintegrate me today because there is no shield like the One that stands before me.

Happy Thanksgiving to you all. 🍁

𝙁𝙧𝙤𝙢 𝘿𝙚𝙖𝙩𝙝 𝙞𝙣𝙩𝙤 𝙇𝙞𝙛𝙚

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September 9th, 2024

It’s possible this has turned into the longest post I’ve ever made (I know, shocking, right?) Just know you’ll need to set a few minutes aside if you choose to read on but this has some important themes regarding understanding anyone you know who is experiencing grief and depression.

I have taken some time away from writing recently, but not because it doesn’t live in me almost all of the time. I have written for myself, for my own thought processing and healing, but not for public consumption because I have been concerned over the reactions, just as I feared what this phase in my life would mean for me, personally. Notice I said I was 𝙘𝙤𝙣𝙘𝙚𝙧𝙣𝙚𝙙 over what my readers would think (which is often different from what they will actually 𝙨𝙖𝙮) but was fearful only of what it means for me personally. The former, you have to consider in your own spirit and, as a recovering people pleaser, I hope you’ll find compassion and understanding in your heart as opposed to judgement. The latter, I took up with God and, as always, He has been walking me through how to manage the feelings that go with this. I’ve heard Him speak to my heart over it on a regular basis the last couple of months as I’ve been thoughtfully scrutinizing all of the cogs and wheels that are constantly rotating in my brain to produce thoughts, both negative and positive…and what choices will rid me of the negativity.

So here goes nothin’…

I’ve spent the better part of sixteen months sitting inside my house…”the better part” meaning 95% of the time. I had someone else grocery shopping, began working from home, had almost any food I ate (that I didn’t cook myself) delivered, and spent many, many days just sitting in my own bed…all day, in my pajamas. Somewhere around January the grief poured over me in a fresh, hot wave (Scott’s birthday is in January and he will never, ever spend any of them here, with us, again) and I found myself in a very scary place; it’s a place I’ve been only once before in my life and, both times, I had to constantly (𝙘𝙤𝙣𝙨𝙩𝙖𝙣𝙩𝙡𝙮) remind myself, over and over throughout the day, of every single reason I had to be here. And yet God continually reminded me that He didn’t leave me here, living, just for me to make alternate plans.

It’s important for anyone who has never experienced major depressive disorder to know that I love my family, quite literally, more than whether or not I take my my next breath. When you’re in this phase of a depressive cycle, you battle irrational thoughts every minute of every day and many nights (all night.) It is 𝙣𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙧 that the value of your family, your blessings, your faith, is LESS THAN the value of peace. It is that the pain of those days makes you wish for anything that will stop it and you’ve tried everything on Earth that you can think of to do so. And you also know, in the pit of your stomach, that despite how happy you try to appear, or at least how “okay” you attempt to seem, it hurts your family to see you the way you are. This makes it a struggle, an overwhelmingly vicious spiritual warfare, not to believe they’d be able to move on and would ultimately be better off if they didn’t have to watch you do this anymore. This time, though, I knew exactly how much grief costs and had learned some valuable coping mechanisms from the last time. Also, I’d like to say that experiencing depression doesn’t automatically mean that you have less faith; on the contrary, it means you have to lean on that faith all the more just to survive and, ultimately, relearn how to thrive.

I realize that not everyone who has lost someone they dearly love goes through this specific battle. Grieving is different for everyone and not everyone faces a chemical disorder that causes this particular brand of despair. I’m not telling you this so that anyone “feels sorry for” me. 𝘿𝙤𝙣’𝙩 feel sorry for me; I am winning. I’m telling you this because 𝙎𝙊𝙈𝙀 people do live in this place and, if no one tells you, it will likely never cross your mind to truly think about what it is like for someone walking that path.

I spent a lot of time crying to my best friend, actually telling her that I was having to fight to stay here. I talked to my sister (who lives this battle daily since last year) and to others to whom I’m very close. I 𝙙𝙞𝙙 𝙣𝙤𝙩 share this specific part of the battle with some people I love exactly because I didn’t want them afraid, because I have beat this before and I had every intention of doing it again. You see, this time I 𝘿𝙄𝘿 talk about it and that kept me from making other choices that poor coping mechanisms allowed me to choose in it before. 𝙄𝙛 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙖𝙧𝙚 𝙨𝙩𝙧𝙪𝙜𝙜𝙡𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙞𝙣 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙖𝙧𝙚𝙖, 𝙩𝙖𝙡𝙠 𝙩𝙤 𝙨𝙤𝙢𝙚𝙤𝙣𝙚 𝙖𝙗𝙤𝙪𝙩 𝙞𝙩…𝙥𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙨𝙚.

Our society teaches us to be ashamed of weakness and to look at depression as just that. It teaches us to suck it up and just keep swimming. But would you tell a man with no legs to just get up and walk? No, someone would try to help make him new legs then take him to physical and occupational therapy to learn how again. In clinical major depressive disorder, you have no tools, no prostheses, except the ones others help you use until you’re back on your feet again. If no one tries to understand that we are literally missing parts then they simply cannot fathom the degree of difficulty in the circumstances; dopamine, monoamine oxidase A, seratonin, and norepinephrine levels are askew and it makes you feel “crazy” because that’s a word that society has come up with for anyone who isn’t “in their right mind.” And, just for the record and from my extensive research of a topic that affects me directly, research indicates that people with ADHD are significantly more likely to experience major depressive disorder compared to those without ADHD; studies show individuals with ADHD can be up to six times more likely to develop depression, suggesting a strong connection between the two conditions. In fact, all neurodivergents are at higher risk.

All of that wasn’t even supposed to be part of this writing when I started, but I’m often led in a direction that needs to be heard anyway. I guess today was one of those times. Excuse my temporary digression but please consider it carefully in how you react and respond to someone in the trenches of this war.

Moving on, around March I began to resurface from what often felt like drowning; many of you have read my descriptions over the past year and you may remember that being underwater or buried in a pit of mud and mire was a common theme. I was still lost in grief (some days I feel I still am but my “muscle memory” to lift out is getting better at responding sooner) but was facing the rest of the first year. It doesn’t get “easier” after the first year, by the way; it just gets different. There is a realization that, although you’ve checked off holidays and memorable events that you’ll never experience with someone ever again, now the realization hits that they’re not really checked off at all. Every year forever will be filled with the same days and every year forever they won’t be here. It felt like acknowledging surviving those days the first year was a way to feel like you accomplished something as you managed to get through them, and you did! But there will be plenty more of those unwelcome challenges to overcome. It’s like saying, Oh, HOORAY! I made it through mile 1 of a triathalon!!!” when everyone knows that’s only a drop in the bucket. You now settle in to trying to figure out what life looks like in the long haul.

One of the things I began to struggle with was how it felt as though my future, the one Scott and I dreamed of together, was just gone. Gone altogether. Poof!

While pondering this (again and again and again) and trying to see if there was any path that didn’t include daily devastation, I began to consider what ways it might look different. The vacations and trips we had planned, for example, I still wanted to do those bucket list things. I had to cancel our belated honeymoon (as we called it because we were in the throes of raising five teenagers when we married) which should have been this past summer. We were actually supposed to leave June 1st of 2023 but had postponed it to the following summer when Scott was injured in March. I didn’t want to cancel all of the rest of the dreams and plans because I’m still here and he’s already enjoying the ultimate paradise where he is now. The first task to face was thinking about how I didn’t want to do them without him and coming to terms, once again, with the fact that it is simply impossible to change that part of it.

Over a period of weeks and even months of contemplation, I got to a point where I said “I can still do those things; I can still try to enjoy doing fun things and see how that goes.” And yet I still don’t want to do them alone. So, my best friend, Kelly, and I planned a trip to Houston to see my daddy and to just have a little getaway. I knew I’d enjoy getting to see my dad and stepmom but had no idea how much I would actually be able to enjoy just living again. You may have seen our pictures. We did Escape Rooms and indoor rock climbing and theater (live & movies) and dinners. We acted ridiculous at times (iykyk) and laughed until our bellies and cheeks hurt. I honestly think it was the first time I fully realized that I’m not just alive…I’m still 𝙡𝙞𝙫𝙞𝙣𝙜. What a purely shocking revelation.

Coming home from that trip or maybe shortly thereafter, I told Kelly that I need to LIVE more. I think I was really surprised to know that I could leave my house and actually experience joy and laughter and fun. Be assured that there was a guilt aspect of this that I had to wrestle with, but I saw my husband looking at me with a facial expression like “what are you 𝙩𝙖𝙡𝙠𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙖𝙗𝙤𝙪𝙩?” and saying “Jennifer, baby, really??? Stop it.” He would have hated seeing me walk through the last almost year and a half because he loved seeing me happy. And so then I began to think (and to talk to both him and God) about my next question.

Before we left for Texas, Kelly already had a travel nursing contract planned in Kentucky. There was a part of me that felt like she was my life jacket, I think. I’m capable of being alone (clearly, ugh) but even though I can enjoy a day by my pool alone or reading a book or whatever, I can do little more than an “LOL” alone (which we all know doesn’t actually mean the person is laughing “out loud” but maybe more of a quick release of breath through their nose and a smile. Let’s be real here.) I have a handful of other close friends but, at this stage of life, most of them have husbands, families, are on their own adventures. I had to start thinking about what would happen to my plan to keep on “actually living” without my friends being the primary supporting actors in this dramatic movie that is my life.

You’ve probably guessed where this is going by now. And both God and my husband know, not only where it’s going, but exactly what it will look like. We’ve talked. A LOT.

I’ve made the decision to begin dating. Well, to begin seeking to meet people with whom I have commonalities in faith (first), importance of family, hobbies and/or enjoyable activities, and who are capable of understanding that I still love, will always love, Scott. Someone who wants to develop a friendship and then let God show us if it is intended to be any more than just that. And someone to just enjoy life with. It feels like a tall order but won’t God do it? I believe that He has held my hand and led me through deep waters and dark places to get here. I also believe that when He puts a desire in my heart (and if He puts it there then it’s one that is not out of line with His Word) it is because He has a plan. He has a purpose in it. And I’ve known through this whole last 16 months (tomorrow) that He has always still had a plan for me.

I’m almost 52. Dating is not something I thought I’d ever be doing at my age. Wouldn’t have wanted to. But my God brings beauty from ashes, and I have full faith in that. I might live until tomorrow or I might be 104 when I die. Maybe I’m actually middle-aged right now. And I do not want to spend this life alone.

I’ve learned to look at it like this:
When I was pregnant with my second child, I remember thinking “I already love Austin (my oldest) more than it should be humanly possible to love another person. HOW am I going to love another baby on that scale when Austin holds 𝙨𝙤 𝙢𝙪𝙘𝙝 of my heart. Of course, when Luke Reilly was born, and then Christian Owen, I learned that love never, ever gets divided; it grows exponentially to accommodate all of those whom you grow to love. I did not have to love my boys less to fall hopelessly in love with Scott and I do not ever have to love Scott less in order to, potentially, love someone else. I’ll just always love him. It seems like as simple a fact as 2+2=4.

I said this recently to another sweet girl who lost her person:
“I’m just getting to a place where I can try to look forward without looking back…and what I mean by that is that I’ve realized I don’t have to look back because he’s always just here. No matter whether I stay “in the pit” or try to move out of it, he’s going with me wherever that is. The memory of him is everywhere, in practically everything I do and everywhere I go so I’m not leaving him behind, because he became so much a part of who I am. I am who I am today because of who he was and how he loved me. That’s not just going to disappear because it’s fully engrained in the person I am today.
I guess what I’m saying is that it’s going to get easier to navigate eventually. For awhile there, I wasn’t sure that it ever would. It felt impossible. I’m not saying that grief is “gone;” I think I’m just saying that I’m learning to accept that it’s a part of who I am and may rear its head occasionally but it is not going to define me. I believe that part will come for you, too.”

I’m choosing to live by my own words. And to live my life on my own terms (as opposed to people pleasing) as long as I’m in line with God in it. I know, as surely as I know the sun will continue to rise each day, that some people will hold harsh criticism for this choice; they may not choose to say it to me, but it’ll be there in some people’s hearts. Some will think it is “too soon” or that it somehow means that I didn’t love Scott as much as I’ve said. And I’m okay with that because I look for my wisdom elsewhere.

The fact of the matter is that I have held open discussions about this with those who matter the most in this decision (in addition to God & Scott): all of my children, and my mother-in-law. My kids want me to find my inner happy again, although Luke said that anyone I decide to date better know two things: 1.) that I have three grown sons who will 𝙢𝙖𝙠𝙚 𝙨𝙪𝙧𝙚 he respects me and treats me well and will be there to answer accordingly if he doesn’t (boy moms, you already know) 2.) he has very big shoes to fill. My response to this part was that no one will be filling Scott’s shoes; anyone new will have his own shoes and will be responsible for filling those. My mother-in-law reminded me, ever so sweetly, that Scott would not want me to spend my life lonely and that she supports me, trusts my decisions, and that they are still my family, always. 💕 I could not have asked God for more beautiful family than those with whom He has blessed me and who are all so dear to my heart.

So…now you know. I love you all and wanted you to know my heart, as always. 🫶🏼❤️‍🩹

Talk, Talk, Talk…

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I talk to myself more than I used to. And I don’t just mean in my bedroom before bed at night, having the conversations we used to have and telling him how much I love him and miss him. I mean in the grocery store, at the DMV, in my back yard. Doesn’t matter if other people are there, apparently, because I realized this was occurring while in Walmart when a lady looked at me like I was schizophrenic as I had a discussion with myself about which vegetable would go better with the supper I was planning. Yes, it’s like that.

I’ve decided that it’s safer to leave the house with my granddaughter in tow because at least then people will assume I’m talking to her. And I don’t really even know WHO I’m actually talking to (which may be even more scary.) Is this some leftover habit of talking things through with my husband? I don’t know because we didn’t really always discuss what vegetable to have. I’m excusing myself when I burp at home and, just being honest, I didn’t always do that anymore with him either.

On one hand, I’m home with a toddler most of the day every day and have very little adult interaction overall. Maybe it’s just that I have a quota of words that I need to spend each day (if you know me in person then you already know that’s typically a high number) and I’m just fulfilling the minimum requirement to relieve the pressure of holding it in all the time. I think I drive my boys (autocorrect just changed ‘boys’ to ‘joys’ and that’s true, too) crazy wanting to talk forever when I do see them because I have to fit it all in somewhere.

Loneliness has a way of creeping up on you, too, though. My person isn’t here. When I talk to my mother-in-law (love) we can talk for long periods because the loss is a hole too deep to ever fill but maybe talking eases it some. Maybe talking to air is some strange way of placating the monster of loneliness. I just don’t know. I also haven’t talked to another widow about this (yet) so I don’t know if this is…common. I won’t say “normal” because that’s only a setting on the washing machine. In people, there’s no real “normal” because it’s okay to be whoever you are, but some things are more common.

Ultimately, what I have come to realize is that I’m not directing as much of that loneliness, that random talking anywhere and everywhere, up to God. Why am I talking to an unrecognizable void rather than to the Living God? The one who never leaves. The one who always stays. The one who is omnipotent, omnipresent, and omniscient: all powerful, everywhere, and knows all. My words should be directed at my power source. Over the past year, when my spirit has not wanted to live in this realm any longer, Abba God came through every single time and reminded me that He is still here and He has a plan; I just need to wait for it to be revealed in a way I am able to understand. Mind you, I do pray, but there is still all this extraneous talking that I apparently feel the need to do to no one in particular. I can definitely make better use of those words.

I don’t even know if this is a “stage” other people go through but, if you’re here with me, I see you! I truly believe that God never leaves us alone. If you can’t feel Him there, someone else is feeling what you do and you just have to find the helpers. The whole beauty from ashes? Sometimes it’s when God uses us to help those who come to a place after we do. We are the map. If you’re in that place where you feel lost, I hope something I say gives you a place on the map to start.

Change is the only Constant

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I’m not who I was a year ago. There are parts that are healing. There are parts that still feel beyond repair but I know they will heal…they just won’t ever look or feel the same where the scar lies. There are parts that are wiser (about things I don’t really want to be wiser.) There are parts of me that still can’t figure things out. All I know is that change is the only constant in life. How ironic is that?

The one year “anniversary” of my nephew’s death is next Tuesday. It feels weird to call it an anniversary – those are supposed to be happy occasions, like birthdays…but those aren’t as happy either anymore. After we fumble our way through that day, it is only 16 days until it’s been a year for me, too. It’s like there is a convoluted countdown going on. Part of your brain unwittingly hopes that one year means “Whew! I made it through the firsts. Should be smooth sailing from now on…” while the part of your brain that contains intellect knows full well that an anniversary date is no longer the end of anything. It ended last year and once it’s ended there can be no other ending. There’s no reprise, no encore act. The bow has been taken and the theater long cleared out.

I’m different because I’ve made it this far. I have exercised my faith this year as if I were training for a double triathlon. God has come through every time. None of it has been easy – the exercising of my faith to what felt like the full limit part, or even the parts when He came to the rescue. It’s still all been really hard, but I am here. I am still living in our home and was not forced to move. I still have three amazing sons and three wonderful daughters-in-love plus a grandbaby. I was able to care for my granddaughter during my daughter-in-love’s entire nursing school program so that my son didn’t have to pay for daycare and so that my sweet grandbaby was exposed to as little illness as possible. My husband and I had agreed to do that for them and I was trying my best to hold true to that. The fact that I feel so much loss and brokenness but am still so blessed seems like a crazy paradox. An impossible coexistence.

I will be applying to jobs soon. The retirement my husband wanted and planned out for me was revoked once he was no longer here. I’m so thankful that the grace of God has provided ways to allow me time to grieve and to be with my granddaughter; He has provided hand over foot, over and over again, each time I even considered that the time may be coming when we’d be forced to look into daycare for the baby. Then suddenly a solution that would appear, in the natural, to be completely out of the blue, totally unexpected…they were solutions that were promised to me last year. He said “don’t worry; it’s already taken care of” and it was, right on time, every time.

I really didn’t want to go back to work but I am thankful that I was afforded this time to walk the brittle beginning of this journey with my granddaughter to light up the darkest days and without added stressors to keep me from processing all that I have been able to thus far. Now I will work on walking back into the work world and figuring out how that is going to look.

Money has been a sticking worry point for me throughout the last year. I’ve often felt guilty for worrying about it because figuring out how to deal with the money part isn’t nearly as difficult as figuring out to deal with the loss of my husband, my soulmate. Also because God tells us not to worry about what we will eat or what we will wear because the birds of the air do not sow or harvest but God provides food for them. And the lilies of the field are dressed in the most beautiful finery but need not worry about clothing. How much more does the Father love us? (Matthew 6:26-30) Every time I tried to stop worrying about money, another problem would pop up, making everything feel like a monetary house of cards all this time. And every time, He provided a way like He said He would.

I figured out this week one of the main and primary reasons that I’ve been so worried about the financial part. First off, my husband and I were both nurses but he was in a position to make a lot more money than me. As is typical, our bills grew to what we were able to afford and we bought a new home just four years ago, right before the onset of COVID-19. We bought a home together. For anyone who doesn’t know already, this was not either of our first marriage. He had a home and I had a home when we met. He eventually moved to the home I already lived in. Then his career path changed course and we were able to begin looking at houses together. We found one we loved for various reasons and we purchased it together. Then we made even more memories here.

I think it was in the first few days thay I said “I can’t lose our house; God, please don’t let me lose our house.“ This home represented so many of the dreams we had together. Things we wanted to do here for future grandchildren. Upgrades and even addition we dreamed of doing one day. Plans of what life would look like after all of the kids had moved out. I was terrified of an empty nest but he had a way of making it seem exciting and fun to be “on our own,” able to leave town at the drop of a hat and explore places we wanted to go. So one thing that has been at the tip top of my mind this whole time was “how am I going to afford to keep this house and all of the bills that go with it?” I was talking about how going back to work was the only choice but that I should be able to work it out to have the house paid off before retirement (hopefully and prayerfully.) Someone said “well, you could look into selling the house and moving into something smaller since you don’t need so much space.” That person meant no harm at all and was just trying to give a helpful potential solution, but my heart felt like it fell past my stomach and to my knees. Literally like the first downhill of a roller coaster. That same fear of not having this place where we planned our forever jumped right back into my throat while my heart tried to find its way back to my chest. It was all I could do to hold the grief break inside of me til later. It was only then that I fully realized that was the source of almost all of my money fears. Yes, I could survive if I had to sell our home. Yes, I could probably afford a tiny home more easily. Yes, I know many people end up not having a choice but, if there is anything I can do about it, I will have a choice about whether to keep or sell my house. And I will stay right here.

Now that I know part of my plan to do that means I have no choice but to return to work and that I know I will have gotten through my granddaughter’s first year and a half with no daycare, at least, I am able to build the resolve to step into it. I’m in the process now of figuring out how to plan for retirement without him here, too, but God still says it’s all going to be okay…the money part anyway.

So, things are still changing every day. Nursing school ends next month and then I go back to being one, too. It wasn’t the plan but things keep changing. But I was wrong about one thing. The only thing constant in life is not just change. It’s also God. He is never-changing.

Coming Full Circle…One of These Days

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I recently found a blog post that was left in the draft folder on my blog website from many years ago, one which had never been posted.  It was from 2013.  There were only two paragraphs written and I guess I got distracted and never went back to finish it.  By the date it was saved to drafts and by the last paragraph, I can tell you that I had just met the man who would become my husband, Scott.  The last paragraph probably tells you all you need to know…I was already fully twitterpated and loving every second of it.  And before he died, only a too-short three years and two months after we were married, almost ten years since we’d met, he was the one who was constantly telling me to write a book.  He loved my writing and he felt like writing was one of my callings, that God would use it if I did finally write a book.

The first paragraph of the following saved draft (at the end of this post) is because of divorce.  Somehow my divorce, my re-marriage, and my becoming a widow all tied together to become the fodder for this very blog, at various stages in my life.  I began to blog when I was jaded and trying to navigate life as a single mom of three and still figure out who I was if I wasn’t a wife.  It had become an identity and once it was shed, I felt naked beneath.  I vowed never to let someone else “become my identity” again.  I was ME and I was perfectly happy being just that (most of the time.)

Enter Scott…who made part of my new identity “wife” again.  Once I met Scott, suddenly I didn’t mind a bit taking that identity on again.  If we were famous, someone would have invented some name for the two of us like ScoJen or Jenott because that was all we ever, ever wanted to do.  Be together.  A therapist may have called it co-dependent but, if it was, neither of us cared.  It sounds mooshy and gross probably, to some people, but we completed each other.  We were peas in a pod.  Peanut butter and jelly.  Insert any other combination where it just doesn’t seem right if the two parts aren’t together: that was us.  I loved it.  (He did, too, and he would have told you so; I’ve heard him say it many times.)

But it didn’t end up the way we planned and he was quite suddenly gone…without me.  I’m sure he’s managing just fine because he is walking streets of gold.  Me?  I’m down here feeling like I’m lost in an endless, foreboding forest with magically changing paths that continue leading me absolutely nowhere as I try to find out who I’m supposed to be again…as just me. Another new identity: widow. I hate this one more than any other I’ve had, ever.

So, I decided to hit the laptop (not literally, although at times I may have wanted to) and start doing what he had always wanted me to do.  I started writing. I’m writing a book, a novel actually.  Look at me, being an author.

A part of me will always feel guilty for not finishing it while he was here to see it and glow with pride as he bragged to people about me and my book.  He knew a lot of the overall premise of the book and I had started and restarted several times. He thought the prologue was a good hook. If I’d finished it while he were still here, he’d have gone on and on about it; I know he would. He wasn’t into bragging much unless it was about me or our boys, but then all bets were off…if you knew him, you were going to hear a LOT about us.

A month or two ago, I suddenly got the unction to write almost every day for a week.  I got to Chapter 10 so that equated to somewhere between 1 and 2 chapters a day.  Writing a chapter sounds like something you could do in an hour of one day but this comes along with outlining, character mapping, planning rising conflict, plot twists, crises, and resolutions before diving in and then having to go back and edit and then edit again.  I think I was making pretty decent progress.

Then one of those magically moving paths in the dark forest shoved me down, down, down into another deep pit with a quicksand called despair at the bottom. I didn’t write blog posts for quite some time and still haven’t written another word in the book. At first I started getting stressed about how I had just quit in the middle and I needed to keep going. Then I’d sit down at the laptop and just stare at the screen. I had nothing to say. I’ve now decided not to worry about it and also that when it’s time to write more of it, I’ll know.

Once I finally do finish it, I don’t know what happens next, when I finally get to the point where I’ve written the epilogue.  That’s something I’ve decided to wait until later to worry about, too, because right now the important part is that I do eventually write it, get it done, finish, accomplish completion.  Even if he is the only one who ever knows I did it, then I’ll know he would be proud.  For today, that is what matters to me the most.

But when I found this saved blog draft today, it brought a couple of things together for me.  I once live in The Before, the place I lived in prior to meeting Scott.  Mistakes, regrets, a lifetime of falters that led me to heartbreak and total opposition to romantic relationships.  That Before was also an After – after divorce.

Then, quite unexpectedly, another Before popped up; that’s the one that I lived in prior to Scott’s Homegoing.  That middle part was the best there ever was; that was where I lived knowing I had been given a wonderful gift, a real kind of love, a soulmate.  

And now…now I live in The After again.  I have to remind myself that, once, a long time ago I lived in a different kind of After.  After divorce.  And then one day another unexpected Before came along.  One day life was worth living so much that I often thought I must have dreamed it, dreamed him up. He was so perfect for me that he should have been a dream.

That means that sometimes The After is also a Before. I’m hoping you’re still following me here. (After divorce but also before finding the love of my life. After meeting my soulmate but Before losing him.)

I know that one day God will pour out some kind happiness over my life again.  One day I’ll feel like I’m in a new Before and not just the After. This time The After is devastating, but the Before will have hope and light and life. I doubt I’ll ever be involved in romance again because, without a doubt, Scott was my soulmate.  He was The One that people look for their entire lives and some never find. But other good things could be in the new Before. And Before what? I don’t have a clue.

The second thing this ten-year-old post (written just three months after meeting Scott) brought together for me was that I’m using all of this, parts of the life I lived in both of The Befores, to create something.  They say to write about what you know.  This is it.  (It is fiction, yes, but I am using pieces of my life to breathe life into the narrative.)

So, although there has been tremendous happiness and there has been devastating sadness, they will blend somehow in a medley that creates a new song altogether.  And I hope it’s one worth tapping your foot to the beat. I actually already know a lot about what the second book will be about but have to get through the first. It’s a process I am determined to complete.

The blog post draft saved from 2013 but never posted…until now:

Some people say they don’t regret any of the choices or mistakes they have made because each decision has taken it’s part in molding them into who they are now. I cannot comply with this way of thinking. I do regret mistakes I’ve made. I regret being stupid enough to have needed lessons such as the likes of some of my falters. I regret the changes that some of those trespasses made in me. I’m not even happy with parts of who I am because of the changes some of them made in me. I never wanted to be jaded. I didn’t want to be suspicious and fearful. I never intended to be someone who sometimes uses anger to walk through hurt. I do wish I could go back and not be who I have been at certain times, but I cannot…so I will be a better me now, today. And better tomorrow than I have been this day.

None of this is to say that I am not happy today.  I have actually been deliriously sparkling with newfound joy lately, so much to the probable annoyance of onlookers who don’t like to watch people being “mushy”.  I’m thankful to have found a soulmate who accepts me as I am and whose faults I accept, also, knowing that we all are imperfect.  It is being able to accept each other with our imperfections and not putting one another on pedestals that allows our relationship to be real and yet still adoring.  This is, surprisingly, where real love is found. I’ve really found it. This is definitely it.

I’d Like One Speedy Miracle, Please.

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I’ve been thinking on something while meditating over scripture I had read today. What came to me caused me to do a little further research and here is what I have found:

We get tired of waiting on God to do something about things that we pray over. I’m saying “we” because I know I’m not alone in this.

I want to pray and have it happen…like, now would be nice, right? When Jesus performed miracles he said “Your faith has healed you; get up and walk” or a similar phrase which pertained to their own infirmity. The healing was instantaneous. Just (snaps fingers) like that. That’s how I want my miracles to go. Just (snaps again) like that.

My initial thought was “He’s in the waiting” and I spiritually rolled my teenage eyes at the Holy Spirit (awful) and whined “Yes, I know God is in the waiting but if He’s here, why can’t He do something about it now?” If you are never, ever a wayward teenager when you respond to the Holy Spirit (God), then I applaud you. I’m still trying to grow up and straighten up (pretty sure I always will be) and sometimes my own spirit misbehaves. Maybe that’s just me.

The interesting thing is what I got in my spirit 𝘯𝘦𝘹𝘵. Yes, Jesus performed miracles and they happened immediately, upon command. I mean, He was Jesus, after all. But the people who we read about in the Bible who were healed had been struggling for a LONG time.

The paralyzed man at the Pool of Bethesda had been crippled for 38 years.

The woman with the issue of blood who touched the hem of His garment had been bleeding for twelve years.

Casting demons out of a man and into pigs – the Bible says he had been naked and homeless “for a long time.”

Lazarus had been dead and in the grave for four days when Jesus woke him. I assure you that, to Mary and Martha, four days without him seemed like an eternity. An. Absolute. Eternity. Trust me.

You’re probably seeing a pattern like I did by now but there are many more and all of them after long (or likely long) periods of suffering except for the man whose ear was sliced off when Jesus was detained. 𝘏𝘦 got healed immediately.

These people came to Jesus with faith that He could heal them. If they had faith that He could heal them, at least most of them were probably men and women of faith already. So, they had probably been praying for healing or easing of suffering for a long time.

Enter Jesus, stage left…

When Jesus woke Lazarus from the dead, he had received word six days earlier that Lazarus was very ill and He had been asked to come heal him.

Jesus’ response? No, we’re going to wait two more days. After two days he told the disciples that Lazarus was dead and they needed to go to him now.

“But when Jesus heard about it he said, “Lazarus’s sickness will not end in death. No, it happened for the glory of God so that the Son of God will receive glory from this.” John‬ ‭11‬:‭4‬ ‭NLT‬‬

He waited for the glory of God. Jesus loved Lazarus so much that he wept over the suffering of Mary and Martha when he arrived. But before that, he waited. He told the disciples “Lazarus is dead. And for your sakes, I’m glad I wasn’t there, for now you will really believe. Come, let’s go see him.” John‬ ‭11‬:‭14b-15‬ ‭NLT‬‬

“For your sakes…” For your sakes… For YOUR sakes…

He waited for his friend to die so that others could experience the miracle that the Son of Man performed. So that they could be witness to His glory. He waited so that people would believe.

*********

I don’t like waiting; I’m no good at it. Well, strike that. I have the Fruit of the Spirit and patience is one of those…so I have it but I’m not well-practiced at it because I don’t like it. (There’s that pesky teenager again.)

But He IS in the waiting. If we are waiting for something to happen, it’s going to be in His timing and there’s going to be a reason for that timing. I don’t know what it is and you don’t either, but He has a purpose in the waiting.

That still doesn’t mean I have to like it…but I do have to trust it. And just maybe that will make patience a little easier to use. (But I’m not praying for patience; I’ll pray for grace. If you pray for patience, He may just give you another reason to need it.)

What Kind of “Vert” Am I?

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June 24th, 2023

My whole life, I’ve wondered what kind of “vert” I am. Just stay with me for a minute…

Growing up, I always felt like an introvert but had to act like an extrovert if I wanted to ever have friends; I was an Air Force brat and we moved every 2-3 years. I needed to be able to make friends.

Once I get to know someone, they’ll tell you I could talk their ear off. Someone who is excessively loquacious (hush, it sounds better than “chatterbox” or “too talkative” and I’ve been called all of them) instantly makes people think extrovert. But that’s not who I am until I feel comfortable around you. If I talk a lot around you, consider yourself lucky…just kidding; some would say that’s a curse.

So I guess I thought I must be an extrovert most of my life because that’s what everyone else assumed I was.

People think introverted people can’t get on a stage and sing because they don’t like attention. But I don’t have to really talk to anyone to do that.

They think that leadership skills makes you an extrovert. (Don’t tell your little girls they’re bossy; they have leadership skills.) Maybe it does. I don’t always want to be a leader but I get frustrated if no one is leading and keeping things moving properly so I will step up and handle things if I need to. I don’t know what that trait makes me.

What I was getting to, I guess, is that right now I don’t just feel like an introvert. I feel like a hermit. The counselor called it social anxiety disorder. It is likely temporary but it makes life difficult.

I wish Walmart was open all night like before C*VID because I would go at midnight to avoid seeing people and having to talk to them. People text me and want to call or come over but I stress out over what I’m going to say to them. How silly is that?

But everyone says “So, how are you doing?” And that is ABSOLUTELY a normal thing to ask. There is NOTHING wrong with that! But I don’t know how to answer it. Do I say “I’m okay.” Because I’m not okay. I don’t feel “okay” at all. I feel like my world was ripped apart and no one has the glue to repair it…but I can’t tell people that.

Grief is uncomfortable for people. When it’s not your grief, it’s uncomfortable because of two things.

A.) What if it was your grief??? What if this happened to you??? Oh, dear God, what if it was you? How would you live through this? How is it survivable? (Trust me, I felt this exact same way when my sister lost her son just barely over two weeks earlier!)

B.) What do you say? How can you help? Nothing is going to make it better so how can you just not make it worse??? What phrases are “off limits” because they WILL make it worse? (We understand. You’re right; nothing will make it better and words can’t help. And we also understand our own sensitivity to words and phrases you may say. The thing is, nothing actually makes it 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘴𝘦 either. It’s just 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘴𝘦 all by itself. Everything just feels “worse” right now.)

So, no, I don’t want to say that I’m not okay to anyone. They feel better if I just say “I’m doing okay.” And I’m alive and breathing so it’s not like I’m technically lying. “Hey…I’m okay over here. I’m good. I’ve got this…”

And listen, I’m going to survive this. I haven’t “got this,” but somehow I know I’ll survive it. It SUCKS, but I’m going to survive it. Don’t call for a welfare check. But just because I’m surviving doesn’t mean I just feel all hunky dory.

It’s OKAY that your life keeps moving and things go back to normal for you; he wasn’t your person. I totally get it. It’s okay. YOU’RE okay. And that’s good.

But please don’t just expect mine to go “back to normal.” There is NOTHING normal about this life over here. Nada. Nix. Nuh-uh.

And that whole “new normal” that everyone keeps talking about is a bunch of hogwash. I get it that you want me to find a “new normal” but I HATE what that is theoretically supposed to look like. 𝘐 𝘩𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘪𝘵 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘢 𝘱𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯. I don’t want to just build a new normal around the idea that he is not here. Around the idea that he will NEVER be here. How am I just supposed to make everything normal without him in my picture. It was its own version of “normal” before I knew him but it will never be the same now that he is gone.

I’m guessing that, at some point, I’ll just make a new picture. The thing about that picture is that I see it like one of those photos where someone is still there but kind of faded, like when people make them sort of transparent for the photo because they’re gone? You know? Because I do want to be able to be happy, truly happy, again one day. I HATE FEELING LIKE THIS BUT I CAN’T JUST STOP. Who I am will always have a piece of Scott. I truly am who I am today because he became an integral part of me.

I believe in true love because of him. I believe in soulmates because of him. I believe in real men existing because of him. I believe in grace existing in people and not just in God because of him. I believe in chivalry still being alive and well because of him. 𝘐 𝘣𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘦𝘷𝘦 𝘐 𝘢𝘮 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘰𝘥𝘢𝘺, 𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺, 𝘣𝘦𝘤𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘮. That’s a lot, right? You probably didn’t know that part.

So…

Maybe being an introvert or an extrovert is fluid. Maybe you’re not born one or the other but you become who you are, how you are, what you are, because of what you’re going through. Maybe being an “ambivert” who can go back and forth isn’t such a foreign concept, after all.

And I’m still going to say that, whoever I am, through it all, God knew before I was “a twinkle in my daddy’s eye” that I would be exactly that person at precisely that time. He was prepared to be with me and walk me through it. I go through periods of time when I feel 100% alone (and even want to be) but I know 100% that I am not. He is with me withersoever I goest. He’s here. I’m more grateful for that than I can express in words…imagine that for an “extrovert.”

I may be lonely and still not even want to be around people, but I am not actually alone.

All of the Things…

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June 2nd, 2023

Finances are a big thing for anyone. They’re definitely a big thing in marriage.

When Scott and I were dating, engaged, and then married, we had both been married before. We both had children from previous marriages. We both had financial habits and had suffered financial damage from those marriages/divorces. We each had our own way of doing things as a result of those past marriages. We both were a little gun shy about letting someone else have any control over our financial situations.

I’ve said before that I was fiercely independent. I’d been raising three boys on my own for quite awhile and had found a sort of balance. I had often worked a lot of overtime to make ends meet but I had found a way to make that work. I didn’t want to rock the boat.

Scott had worked a lot of overtime just to stay afloat during his previous marriage due to overspending habits he had little control over. He was more recently divorced and he wanted to maintain his newfound control over money and he didn’t ever want to be in his previous financial condition again.

We overcame that together. Trust was a huge part of it and yet we still had hiccups trying to figure it out along the way. We both made mistakes and we solved them together. Ultimately, because of that trust, I gave over my control to him. Mind you, I still had the ability to use money anytime I wanted to but we talked about things, agreed on how to manage situations, and managed to figure it out together without causing friction.

I confess that Scott spoiled me, a lot. If he knew I wanted something, he just wanted me to have it eventually. His last large gift to me was at Christmas last year. We had a new grandbaby on the way, our first. He knew I love taking pictures and how much I love going through photos of the boys when they were little. He’d comment on what good photos they were. So when Lillian was nearing arrival, he bought me an expensive camera and many setup items to be able to take quality photos of her. (He was every bit as excited about her getting here as I was, so much so that he stood behind the curtain in Patrice’s delivery room and audio recorded Lillian’s first cry and the ensuing elation.)

So allowing him to manage most of our bill payments, frivolous spending money, and big purchases (still with my input on bigger purchases) became easier and I was comfortable letting him “take over.”

But here we are today…

Today he is no longer here to manage things. It’s not that I can’t start doing it again. I just don’t want to. I want him to be here; having to manage the bills and money again is just another reminder that he is not. There is a kind of defiance in me that wants to say “This isn’t what I wanted so I’m just not going to do the things I don’t want to do.” Not a very effective strategy for the future.

There are also issues related to income, obviously. When I say Scott retired me two years ago, I mean that I fought him on it before we got there but relented after awhile, so that’s why I say “he retired me.” He knew the mental trauma of being an empath and a nurse had taken its toll on me in my nearly thirty year career and he hated what it was doing to me. I was miserable. I still had, however, the idea that I needed to provide, too, because I had been a sole provider for so long prior to meeting him. Even though Scott went into the military straight out of high school and went to war soon thereafter, he would say “I haven’t even been a nurse for twenty years and you have been for almost thirty. It just makes sense for you to retire awhile before I do. Plus you can visit me a lot more on assignment and I miss you!” Even though he had worked just as many years as I. A compelling argument, though; I’d get to spend more time with my person. Thus I “gave in” and retired from my nursing career. And I loved it.

Yes, I struggled with “purpose” but then Lillian was on her way and I was going to be a stay-at-home Lolly (my “grandma name.”) while my son worked and finished college and my daughter-in-love started nursing school. So getting used to it wasn’t as hard as I had imagined. My life had somehow become perfect. The best husband ever, best kids ever, best new daughters ever, and the perfect new granddaughter.

It’s a tragic and devastating fall from perfect to now. I still have so many of the perfect pieces but the one that is missing means you can’t ever have the satisfaction of completing the entire puzzle.

Now, suddenly, the debt-to-income ratio feels suffocating and that makes me want to deal with it even less, despite the fact that, in the middle of grief, 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘴 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘸𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘥𝘰.

When your mind is at its most defenseless and distracted place, it is necessary to find a way to complete tasks that not only break your heart all over again (telling what feels like a gazillion people that my husband has passed away and hearing just as many “I’m sorry for your loss” comments) and that are important but feel impossible.

Asking for forebearances while you figure things out. Seeking ways to be creative with expenses. Cancelling unnecessary expenditures like TV streaming services, lawn maintenance service, the highest speed internet plan. Googling what probate even 𝘮𝘦𝘢𝘯𝘴 when you really just knew that it was something that happens when someone dies before. Talking to attorneys. It all just adds up to a LOT to think about when you can’t concentrate enough to string sentences together in conversation at times.

This is not a plea for any kind of sympathy. Remember, this is part of the grief journey I’m sharing and it won’t hurt my feelings if you skip this “chapter” of it. It’s a part of my new reality. It’s just another one of the things that I hate about this “new normal” everyone keeps talking about.

“You’ve just got to find your new normal.”
“What if I liked my old normal? Can I return this one without the receipt? Do you allow exchanges?” But this wasn’t buyers remorse. I never agreed to this…it wasn’t my idea…let me speak to the manager…

So now, with a brain full of mush, I’m trying to think straight enough to do all of the things.

And I’m still going to remember that God is in the smallest details. He has a way of giving me guidance on how to proceed even when I least want to proceed and don’t even know how.

I’ve always said that I’m not good at subtlety and God is a master of it sometimes. I’m the girl who wants the neon signs (like the day I met Scott for the first time.) But I’ve also always said that I k͛n͛o͛w͛ God is speaking to me when the voice in my head says something that I would never suggest myself. Today He is saying “You can do this.” And that’s not something I would say right now at all.

A Love Worth Living For

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May 11th, 2023

Scott and I had the most beautiful love story.  

I had been a single mom for years.  I had given up on dating.  People who worked with me then could tell you that I had decided I would be happy to live the rest of my life just taking care of my boys and reading books.  I was done – stick a fork in me.  Being in love cost too much and I wasn’t a rich woman anymore.  I was drained.  I didn’t know then that there was someone God was wrapping His arms around right then who was done, too.  And God already knew that He could blow those theories out of the water with what he had planned for Scott and I.  We couldn’t have even imagined how good it was gonna get.

I had become fiercely independent in the years I was on my own with my boys.  I could do it all.  I could change my own tire and my own oil.  I could rip out the insides of the back of my toilet and replace them (with the help of my baby sister and a bottle of red for amusement…we didn’t even need the wine because we were pretty amused and amusing).  I could work like a boss and could mom like one, too.  I was trying to prove that if Superwoman existed, here I was.  I didn’t need a man.  So there.

Scott was the quintessential southern gentleman.  Chivalrous, kind, thoughtful, and he literally put everyone before himself.  How anyone would ever have let him go was always beyond me but, when I found him, I truly thanked God for the broken roads.  He still opened car and rooms doors ahead of me, pulled out chairs, wouldn’t let me walk on the outside of the sidewalk…all things I had been teaching my boys already hoping they would one day turn into the kind of man he was (spoiler alert: they did, and they all saw him doing these things as a man’s example and not their just their mama reminding them).

We met in a little tiny office outside of the emergency room at the hospital where I already worked and where Scott had recently been hired.  I don’t even know what it was.  I was staunchly opposed to ever being in a relationship again and in walks this man who didn’t do or say anything outlandish but to whom, I swear to you, I was instantly conjoined in a way I couldn’t explain.  A friend who was in the room teased me afterwards for making googly eyes at Scott and I told him he was crazy because I didn’t do that.  But I was somehow instantly twitterpated (my beautiful mother-in-law’s words soon after we met).  For the next two weeks I could scarcely think of anything else.  I sought reasons to go to the ER when he was working and flirt with him shamelessly.  Scott would later tell me he already felt the same connection but, being much more recently divorced than I and still very haunted, he thought he was just imagining that I kept showing up to see and talk to him, that I was just being nice to the new guy (who didn’t even work in my department).  We were both jaded but God was putting the pressure on because we were straight-up already connected in a way I will never be able to fully explain.  I can tell you that, if you don’t believe in love-at-first-sight, you’re wrong.  We both felt it.  

I often joked in the following years that I had to chase him for two whole weeks before he’d even give me the time of day and ask me out on a date.  He would staunchly deny that and tell me that he thought about it constantly, too, but just knew “someone like me” would turn him down.  Someone like me…he always made me feel that way, like someone he couldn’t believe he had.  But he had my whole heart and soul.  I was the lucky one.

Our first date was dinner at the Brown Lantern and then a walk through Lowe’s to find a ceiling fan he needed at home.  We each didn’t want to go home so we went to my house and watched a movie on my couch.  When he left, I remember asking God what He was doing because I didn’t want to hurt again and I knew that was what love does but somehow this felt different.  It felt like…right.  It felt like a gift.  It felt like the rest of my life.  God, I wish it had been the rest of my life.  But I know that he wouldn’t have wanted to be here without me either.

About two weeks of random bouquets of flowers and dates, and Scott stealing my car keys while I worked, taking it to completely detail it and leave flowers inside and on top of it before putting them back right before I left work, later…he told me he loved me.  And I didn’t say it back.  I panicked.  I thought, we’ve dated for two weeks, this is too fast, this is crazy.  And then I called him and told him I loved him back – not because I felt pressured by his words but because I admittedly couldn’t explain how they were true but our hearts were already sewn together by a thread that we would turn into marriage one day.

We met each others kids, five boys between us, and started having dates with all of us together sometimes.  It wasn’t seamless because blending has its own drama but we were so in love that we just became more and more tightly knit with every obstacle.  And there were plenty.  We always persevered.  Our song was I Want Crazy by Hunter Hayes.  

“But I don’t want “good” and I don’t want “good enough”

I want “can’t sleep, can’t breathe without your love”

Front porch and one more kiss

It doesn’t make sense to anybody else

Who cares if you’re all I think about?

I’ve searched the world and I know now

It ain’t right if you ain’t lost your mind

Yeah, I don’t want easy, I want crazy”

And we had crazy.  We had all of the above.  Every bit of it.  We had a fairytale.

But fairytales always have scary parts where the wicked witch gets you to take a bite of the apple.  We had that, too.  We both had lived through so much trauma and that doesn’t just disappear.  Although mine and Scott’s love never faltered, life kept on trying to intervene and mess things up.  I can tell you with 100% accuracy that Scott has loved me at my best and he has loved me at and through my worst.  And his bests and worsts were different than mine, because we weren’t the same person but just shared the same heart, but I loved him wholeheartedly through all of his.  Yes, we had fights.  We ranted at each other sometimes over what seem like the silliest things now.  Sometimes we even let the sun go down on our anger but it never lasted long.  We never spent a day not loving each other.  Not a single one.

Scott always made me feel like he didn’t deserve me.  I always knew it was the other way around.  He loved me unyieldingly, unshakeably, tremendously.  He loved everyone.  Scott didn’t just make friends everywhere he went – he made family.  He was the most magnificent nurse because he worked tirelessly and endlessly to not only care for his patients with a fervor that made others tired just watching, but he cared for his coworkers, helping anyone in need at the drop of a hat.  Every travel assignment begged him to renew his contract.  They knew what they’d be missing when he left.  And I don’t think I’ve ever met a nurse with whom he worked who didn’t tell me that he talked about me, all the time, and how much he loved me.  I joked with him about the percentage of female nurses on these travel assignments and to watch out for their womanly wiles but it was all in jest because I knew.  He always made sure I knew from him and everyone else.  And before twenty years of nursing, he was a very proud member of the United States Air Force, a war veteran of Desert Storm having served two tours during the Gulf War.  Scott’s entire life was devoted to service of others.  I have been so very blessed to have him in mine.

He always wanted me to need him and I fought him for a good while because of my independence.  It used to aggravate him that I wanted to do everything myself and he just wanted to help.  The funny thing is that I don’t even really know when that stopped because he listened to me, understood the reasons behind my hard-won independence, and slowly moved brick by brick to tear my wall down.  It was like, as he moved the bricks off of my wall, he laid them in a stack next to me so i would always know they were there if I needed to take them back…and then I never wanted to again.  I knew I was safe with him.  My heart was safe, I was safe, our family was safe.  I know that I got comfortable needing him a long time ago but I can’t tell you when because he helped me into it with a gentleness that made me not feel insecure or weak for doing it.  He loved me right into it.  

When my beautiful husband left this earthly plane yesterday, my heart shattered into millions and millions of tiny pieces.  I’ve lost my balance because he was the other side of it.  I’ve lost so much that the only way I know how to give it words was to tell you what we were together.  Even then, it doesn’t do us or the loss any justice.  Everyone keeps saying “there are no words” and you’re right.  There were no words grand enough, big enough, sweet enough, kind enough, amazing enough, to describe the man my husband was.  And there are not enough words to describe who we were together.  We won together and we lost together.  And now I am lost alone.  And each minute that passes (that feels like an hour) keeps shouting at me that there is no resolution to this.  I’ve missed him when he was travel nursing but we always, every single day, talked on the phone, texted constantly, and there were visits – him to home and me to him.  Today I don’t know how I will fill my time.  We didn’t hang out with other people much.  We had friends and we loved a lot of people but we were always content to just be together.  We were always together even when we were forced to be physically apart.  My soul feels the emptiness where his left this world yesterday.  It feels so very dark.  I’m so thankful for every single moment that we had to spend together, loving each other.

Scott was a man saved by grace.  He is undoubtedly singing praises at the foot of the King of Kings.  His neck and back don’t hurt anymore.  His PTSD demons don’t haunt him any longer.  There is no fear or anguish or pain for him anymore.  I’m thankful for that.  And I know how hurt and lost he would have been without me if I had gone first so I’m glad he doesn’t have to feel what I’m feeling now. 

I have the most beautiful, wonderful children to walk with me.  It hurts me to see how hurt they are right now and also that seeing me hurt is hurting them.  But I want them all to know that I would never have given up the opportunity to have a love so very BIG, to forego the loss I am feeling so very much now.  

My message to you: Love is worth the risk. If you ever have the chance to love this big, take it.  It’s gonna feel messy sometimes.  You’re going to feel mad, sad, frustrated, irritated sometimes.  Being so close that you can’t tell your own heart from that of someone else makes those kinds of feelings inevitable.  Take those things with a grain of salt and forgive.  And forgive again.  And again.  Don’t take it for granted.  Don’t waste it.  Savor it.  

I feel like we both knew what we had.  We savored it.

Jonathan Scott Raulerson – 1/22/74 – 5/10/23